


stars in the sky

by violentyler



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Anxiety, Fake AH Crew, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 11:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15929204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentyler/pseuds/violentyler
Summary: Ryan swore, this kid deserved everything he could possibly give him.





	stars in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to @ReyDoneGoofed for beta-ing and being just as pumped for this as I am. Title from guilttripping by frnkiero andthe cellabration. comments and kudos feed me!
> 
> update as of 02/18/19: I'm now taking requests! I don't have a Tumblr or anything...but feel free to send me requests via my discord ( @violentyler#0969 ) or just to chat with me. it's been tough getting more inspo to write so requests/prompts are greatly appreciated.

    Los Santos was the city of fame.

 

    Los Santos made it’s people wealthy, well-known, criticized by the whole world.

 

Los Santos granted people their deepest wishes.

 

Money, done.

 

Fame, done.

 

Clubs, women, drugs, done.

 

    Ray Narvaez came to Los Santos for a life. He came to Los Santos with hope in his heart and a light in his eyes and a dream. A dream that he would never again know the feeling of hunger, the anxiety of worrying over money. He came to Los Santos to become one of its revered citizens.

 

    No one told the young, naive New Yorker a city like that did not take pity on a person like him. It gave no pity and no mercy. He was in Los Santos for a day before he was mugged. He didn’t have much, a few grams of weed and a couple hundred in cash. The man holding a knife to his throat took it all. He found himself broke, alone and definitely not high in record time. People mistook him for a prostitute nearly a hundred times and had tried to cop a feel more than once.

 

    Less than two weeks, he’d had enough. He broke down, finally accepting the fact that if he wanted to survive, he needed a job. He found himself working in a gas station a week later. Not having any rent or bills to pay, it was easier to save money, but of course, of course, it came to an end.

 

    His manager had “stepped out” for a moment, nearly an hour ago, and hadn’t returned. Ray had given up hope he would return anytime soon and found himself relaxing behind the counter, snagging one of the magazines to look through. Ray barely looked up when he heard the door chime. More likely than not, it was more kids high out of their minds.

 

    Until, of course, he did look up and was met with the sight of a pistol pointed right at him. Ray’s body locked up, the magazine slipping to the floor, his frantic eyes trained on the barrel of the gun before him. A voice caught his attention, from directly behind the pistol, but barely. Some kind of threat, he was sure. The sense of panic burning in his veins wouldn’t let him move.

 

    This was it, he was going to die here because he couldn’t fucking mo- The gun was pushed away from his face, and someone took its place. Although it wasn’t whoever was wielding the pistol; he exuded calm, yet the man with the pistol had been frantic, terrified. Instead, a skull mask entered his vision.

 

    “Wait outside.”

 

    Ray paused with confusion. Wait outside? It made a little more sense when he saw Skull’s two friends exit the gas station. His eyes returned to the man before him.

 

    “I don’t want to hurt you, kid. Give me the money in the register and let me leave, and I won’t harm you. Okay?”

 

    Ray swore it took a good thirty seconds for his body to finally move. He jolted back suddenly, heaving in the air that eluded his lungs. He faintly registered the man before him, reaching for his gun at the sudden movement. Ray lurched forward, opening the cash register roughly, the movement making some change hit the floor. Ray’s trembling hands gathered most of the bills in the drawer, save for a few ones, and he shoved them across the counter. Ray didn’t dare to give this man an inch of trust, throwing himself to the ground behind the counter, before Skull could have a chance to change his mind about not wanting to hurt Ray.

   

    Ray wasn’t sure how long he was laying on the dirty linoleum when he noticed the bell above the door ring and his manager come around the end of the counter. Ray felt his whole body relax, like he could finally move, finally breathe again. Of course, Ray was physically incapable of catching a break as his manager started to yell at him, unable to believe that Ray “let the store get robbed”. He didn’t let the man finish the rant, he knew the end result.

 

    Ray left the gas station for good.

 

    He wasn’t sure exactly how or when he became known by the lowlifes of Los Santos. He’d finally had enough money to buy some weed off of a stranger, but he didn’t smoke it. He sold it and kept selling. He went to the seediest clubs Los Santos had to offer, the darkest alleyways, meeting up with all kinds of customers. He had homeless guys coming to him, rich folk coming from Vinewood Hills, criminals he saw on the news. He had every kind of client. After a few months of selling, selling, selling, he was doing okay. But he’d grown up with parents that “did okay”, he came to Los Santos for more than that. He needed more than that, he hadn’t moved across the country to just barely survive off of money from drug deals.

 

    So, he started mercenary work.

 

    It was hard. He spent more of his money on guns and ammunition and body armor. He spent hours and hours at the same shooting range because wow, he sucked ass at close range. He was too panicky, fumbled too much and his pistol still felt foreign in his hands. He practiced for months on end and...he found it.

 

    He found his niche, finally.

 

    He still sucked absolute ass at close range, but farther away? No problem. The owner of the place he practiced at noticed how often he came in and just how bad he was. He’d suggested in passing after a few months that he should test out a sniper rifle. Ray had simply laughed and brushed it off. He swore he was far too anxious to be a god damn sniper.

 

    Yet, he found himself buying the cheapest sniper rifle they had the moment he had enough money.

 

    It was almost too easy to get used to it. It felt easier than the very idea of close range combat. When he finally got his first job as a sniper, he was ecstatic. Sniping was far calmer than he expected. Being so far away made Ray feel detached from the situation and the actual fight happening and it kept him calm.

 

    And damn, was he a good shot.

 

    In a place like Los Santos, word about a deadeye sniper with a hot pink gun got around fast. Before he knew it, Ray had to turn down jobs because he just didn’t have the time for them. He was being contacted by gangs, by druglords, people who had their own criminal empires that wanted him, of all people.

 

    He shouldn’t have been surprised when the Fake AH Crew took an interest in him.

 

    It started with job offerings for Ray, needing a couple basic hits done. It was insulting, that they contacted a minorly infamous Brownman for beginner-level jobs. So, he turned them down. They kept coming, he kept saying no. Brownman was capable of so much more than that. But he’d heard about this crew, knew these people tended to always get just what they wanted in Los Santos. The Fake AH Crew ruled  Los Santos and god, it felt good to be able to turn them down.

 

    But they were stubborn. They began sending people to his apartment, trying to bribe him into working for the Fake AH Crew. Ray wasn’t having it. Everytime it happened, he moved somewhere else, gave no response to the bribes. After so many months, it stopped. Ray assumed they’d finally given up, had accepted the fact that they’d never get their hands on Los Santos’ best sniper.

 

    How naive of him.

 

    It had been four months since he’d seen anyone associated with the crew, he should’ve known they were just waiting. He was in the middle of a big job when it had happened. A local gang had hired him to eliminated the leader of a rival gang. They were well known gangs or anything, just regular territoy beef, which was refreshing for Ray. Ray was positioned on a rooftop, far away from any action that would surely occur as his employers ent some people in to stage a truce negotiation. Once the target was in view, he’d take his shot, pack up and leave.

 

    He didn’t get that far.

 

    He noticed shadows skittering across the area, keeping to the edges of buildings where Ray couldn’t identify them. He was so focused on these peculiar shapes and shadows, he didn’t hear someone climb up to the roof behind him. It was a rookie mistake, he’d later realized. He should have known better. Though at the time, it hadn’t come to mind as some kind of blunt object collided with the back of his head, efficiently knocking him out.

 

    He really wished he could be calm and cool enough to successfully feign sleep, but he wasn’t. When he woke up, it was with a jolt. He sat up with a gasp, hand flying to the bump on the back of his head. His chestnut eyes scanned the room before him. It was just the bed he was sat on and a window to the right of him and the door across the small room. Ray stumbled to his feet, painfully aware that he was in different clothes, without his armor and without his weapons. Approaching the door, he twisted the knob and pulled. Nothing, not even a tiny twitch from the door. It had to be locked from the outside. He changed course, moving to the window. He could see a few familiar clubs nearby, but iron bars were securely in place in the window. So, no way out then. Wonderful.

 

    Almost on cue, he heard the locks on the door click. Ray spun towards the sound. After all this time, he was still horrible with close range combat, especially since he was unarmed, but he could try.

 

    But then a man came in, covered head to toe in tattoos and had this energy of calm surrounding him. He was dressed in a suit and had dark facial hair. Because of course it would be just Ray’s luck that Geoff fucking Ramsey had kidnapped him in the middle of a job.

 

    He knew the guy, the god damn leader of the Fake AH Crew, was talking to him, but he didn’t hear a word of it. Instead he let, “are you fucking kidding me?” slip out.

 

    Ramsey raised his eyebrows, a sly smile on his lips. "Kid, if you knew who I was you wouldn't be talking to me like that."

 

    Ray stared at the too-casual man before him with wide eyes. "You're the leader of the best known crew in the city. You have the entirety of Los Santos under your thumb. You have been dogging me for months just to give me shit jobs meant for rookies. I know exactly who I'm talking to."

 

    Ramsey laughed. He fucking _laughed._ The sound startled Ray and he took a small step back. Once Ramsey recomposed himself, he gestured for Ray to follow him. "I like you, kid. Come on."

 

    Ray was hesitant at first. He was deep within the biggest crew in the city's base, he was sure, or a safehouse at the very least. He just didn't understand why this guy didn't take no for an answer.

 

    He trailed a few feet behind Ramsey.

 

    "I've seen your work with other crews, you're a good shot. A great shot, actually. You've got an impeccable record, you don't deal with employers bullshit, no matter how good the pay is. You've got...I don't want to say spunk, but, well... You'd be perfect for my crew." He didn't look back to see if Ray had followed.

 

    Ray scoffed. "That why you only offered the worst jobs?"

 

    Ramsey gave a small laugh. "Under the assumption you would've taken the job, it was a test. I wanted to see how you handled yourself, in person."

   

    Ray's face fell. Still riding the high of his success, he'd taken those jobs as a sign that Geoff Ramsey thought very little of Ray's abilities. He was sorely mistaken, it seemed.

 

    Ray took note of his surroundings as he was led through the penthouse. It was far from pristine, knives and stray ammunition and even a few axes littered the halls, posters adorning the walls. They passed several rooms, most doors open, only two or three shut. He managed to peek into one of the room as they passed, spotting nearly a dozen guns and piles of video games, among other things. It wasn't a bad place by any means. Even with how successful Ray was, he couldn't afford this kind of place. Geoff led him out into a more open room, with big windows overlooking the ocean. There were two large black couches and an entertainment center, with the entrance to the kitchen off to the side. Several people on the couches, some facing away from Ray, and big, burly man watching Ray from the kitchen.

 

    "Brownman, this is the crew. Boys, Brownman."

 

    A few of them shouted their own names as a greeting. One of them sounded vaguely angry and one had a thick accent, but Ray found himself unable to focus on any of that.

 

    He was staring at the man perched on the couch with a horrifyingly familiar skull mask.

 

    Ray found himself rooted in place. He remembered that mask, it haunted him for so long. It had always been his worst fear to somehow encounter Skull Mask on a job, but here he was, a member of the crew that seriously wanted Ray. There was no hint of recognition in his eyes, but still Ray couldn't _breathe_. It took him too long to realize Ramsey had been talking to him, had moved over to sit on one of the couches and expected him to do the same. They were all looking at him, giving him these odd looks, like he was crazy. He found his eyes focusing on those blue eyes surrounded by pale skin and black fabric.

 

    He ran.

 

    It didn't matter that he didn't have his rifle or anything he'd had with him on that job, he needed to get out of there. He fumbled with the door to the garage, the only door he could see. He heard shouting, footsteps and hands at his back, fisting the back of his shirt, pulling him back, away from the door. Ray's body was in panic mode, he could hear Skull's words in his head again.  


    _Wait outside. Give me the cash in the register._

 

Ray screwed his eyes shut and let out an almost guttural scream, swinging his arm back. His fist collided with something hard and heard someone curse softly, the hand at his back disappeared. He returned to the door, tearing it open and rushing out into the garage. He saw his Akuma there and didn't even pause before hopping on it and trying to get as far from the penthouse as possible.

 

    ~.~

 

    Brownman had disappeared.

 

    Jobs were either denied or ignored, no one saw that pink rifle for months. No one had known his real name, had no other way to find him. Brownman had just disappeared. Gangs were scrambling, trying to offer the highest paying job, desperate to have the help of Brownman for their petty disputes. They were out of luck.

 

    Ray Narvaez had not disappeared, not really.

 

    Ray Narvaez hadn't left his apartment in four months. Hell, he'd barely left his bed. He just had that same moment of pure panic running through his mind, when he'd seen Skull Mask at the penthouse. He was too overcome with fear still to do anything, to function normally.

 

    He hit the five month mark when he finally left the apartment but only because he had to. He'd been out of food for a month, ordering constant takeout to keep himself going. He wrapped his thinner frame in a purple sweatshirt that hung off of his body more than it used to and old sweatpants with holes in the knees. He kept his hood up and his head down, not wanting to risk anyone recognizing his face.

 

    He was a fool.

 

    Ray was nearly at the nearby supermarket when it happened. He was passing by a dark alleyway and was so consumed by needing to stay hidden, he didn't see someone come out until they were grabbing his arm. Ray spun towards the stranger, his other hand clenched into a fist, ready to swing. The man simply shifted so Ray was pressed into his side, the unfamiliar man's thick arm across his shoulders. Ray was frozen, speechless. Who the hell did this guy think he was?

 

    "Keep walking." He whispered. "Super douche back there's been trailing you. Act normal."

 

    Ray didn't dare look behind him, too terrified. He walked with the man, arms wrapped around himself, keeping his eyes forward. Soon enough the lights outside the supermarket illuminated the stranger beside him. The dude was hot, Ray had to admit, with his pale skin and calming blue eyes. Oh God, his hair looked so soft. Seeing his eyes, he seemed vaguely familiar, he just wasn't sure why.

 

    Ray let himself be pulled into a barren corner of the supermarket. He watched the stranger with him. He didn't look at Ray, eyes trained on the entrance to the store.

 

    "What's your name?"

 

    The man's brow furrowed for a moment before looking to Ray. "Ryan."

 

    Ray dropped it after that. Ryan was a common name, but it didn't ring any bells for Ray. Ryan took a step forward after a few minutes, finally pulling away from Ray when he saw it.

   

    A fraying skull mask half tucked into Ryan's back pocket.

 

    Ray stumbled back until he hit the cooler doors behind him, eyes wide. Why couldn't he just get away from this guy? Of course it would be just his luck to come across Skull Mask the first time he leaves his apartment.

 

    "Is there even anyone?" Ray asked quietly, voice devoid of emotion.

 

    This caught Ryan's attention and he turned fully towards Ray. "What?"

 

    "Is there actually anyone following me? Did you just do this to get me secluded? Is that it?"

 

    Ryan gave a soft sigh, shoulders slumping. "Ray, listen to me-"

 

    Ray jolted, shuffling off to the side when Ryan stepped closer. "Don't! How the fuck do you know my name? God, just, what do you fucking _want?"_

 

    "I- Listen to me, Ray. I didn't lie about anything, I need you to calm down. Geoff does extensive research of potential crew members. We all knew who you really were."

 

    Ray fisted a hand in his hair, tears pricking his eyes for the first time in two years. He opened his mouth to scream at Ryan, when the bell above the front doors rang. Ryan didn't give Ray a chance to react, grabbing the Puerto Rican's skinny arm and pulling him against his chest, arms wrapped around the ex-sniper. Ryan moved them out of sight of the front door. Footsteps echoed off the linoleum and as they got closer, Ryan rushed down a different aisle, holding tight to Ray, slipping out the doors hopefully unnoticed.

 

    The moment the doors shut, Ryan loosened his grip only to receive a fist to his jaw. Ray took several steps back as soon as he could, his knuckles aching.

 

    "Why couldn't you just leave me alone?" He asked, leaning against a brick wall behind him.

 

    "You're talented, Ray. Fucked up as it may seem, you have a gift. I know you don't trust me, but please-"

 

    "Don't trust you?" Ray gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "I have nightmares! I have had nightmares since the day your buddy pulled a gun on me in that gas station! I have feared for the day we would meet again since then!"

 

    Ryan was quiet for some time, steely blue eyes trained on Ray. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than Ray had ever heard it. "I'm sorry. I never meant for that to happen. The crew I used to be with, they...they would've killed you no matter what. They didn't care who died. I saw you and I...I knew I couldn't let that happen. I just couldn't."

 

    "Why?" Ray whispered, furiously rubbing at his eyes.

 

    A small smile graced Ryan's lips, showing his teeth. "Because I saw you and I just...I don't know. I just knew I couldn't let anything happen to you. I saw you and I knew that you deserved all the stars in the sky.”

 

    ~.~

 

    A week later, Ray was moving into the penthouse.

 

    Things were...rough at first. He didn't trust any of them yet and spent most of his time in the room they'd given him, across the hall from Ryan's. He wasn't going on jobs with them yet, still too anxious to really do much of anything.

 

    They let him stew like this for a month. Then they would start knocking on his door, wanting to spend time with Ray, even Ryan. At first, he didn't allow anyone in. The problem with the Fake AH Crew was...they weren't horrible people to be around.

 

    It was another few weeks before Ray started venturing out of the room by himself, watching Michael and Gavin scream over video games or having Ryan force a plate of food into his hands.

 

    He wasn't sure what exactly was happening between him and Ryan. He didn't get this flush of panic at the sight of the mask anymore, but he still didn't like it. Ryan would spend hours in Ray's room, working on plans for heists or talking mindlessly to Ray and Ray found himself comfortable enough to fall asleep in front of the man a few times.

 

    It took months but finally, _finally_ , it was time to pick up his pink rifle again.

 

    God, he'd missed it.

 

    The first job he really did with the Fakes was easy enough. Ray was meant to cover them while they robbed a bank. Ryan, Geoff and Michael were in the bank, Michael blasting his way to the vault, with Jack and Gavin in the air for support. Ray was perched on a rooftop, taking out police quickly and efficiently and it felt so good. The first shot he made nailed a cop right in the forehead and Ray let out an ecstatic whoop.

 

    It went off without a hitch.

 

    Then Jack was shouting into their earpieces, demanding that everyone hurry up and get the _fuck_ out and he could hear a police helicopter in the distance, closing in. Ray packed up and waited at the mouth of the alleyway by the building he'd been in for Ryan to swing by. The sniper hopped onto the bike with ease, holding tight to Ryan as they sped off.

 

    Police sirens in the distance, gunshots echoing around them and Ray pressed up against Ryan.

 

    Ray swore that every second with Ryan, he did have all the stars in damn sky.


End file.
